


i see the place that we've been locked together (like we were something more)

by PitchonthePitch



Series: AUgust Soulmate AU's [11]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brakebills (The Magicians), Bugs & Insects, Depression, Dreams, Dreamsharing, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Self-Hatred, because of the beast, just mentioned, please be careful reading this if you suffer from depression, quentin has a lot of bad thoughts about himself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 16:29:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20212822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PitchonthePitch/pseuds/PitchonthePitch
Summary: Soulmate AUDream - Meet soulmate in dreams every night with the ability to interact, but their face will be blurred out until you meet them in person.Penny and Quentin get to know each other best through their dreams.  Penny gets an intimate look into Quentin's depression, and Quentin meets the Beast in Penny's mind before he ever meets him in the real world.  Through everything, the two of them look out for each other.





	i see the place that we've been locked together (like we were something more)

**Author's Note:**

> Please be mindful of the tags, especially if you suffer from mental health issues like depression! Stay safe, everybody

Penny was running through the park. Most people had dreams about flying or falling, but Penny was always running. And he never seemed to get anywhere.

A familiar voice rang out in his head. “Hello, Penny. How are things?”

He huffed, but the sound came out weak. His breaths were already getting heavy. “I just got suspended from school for punching that perv in my biology class. How do you think things are?”

Inside his head, the voice was airy and indifferent. “I told you not to get involved.”

“He was wondering which drug he should get to roofie his friend! I had to do something.” Penny didn’t bother trying to be quiet. No one else was in the park to hear him. He was always alone in his dreams.

Except for that voice in his head.

And Quentin. But Quentin wasn’t here yet. Penny imagined he was lying awake in bed, struggling to quiet his whirring mind. Penny always had to wait for him.

“And now you’re the one who’s been punished for your behavior. You need to watch out for yourself in this world, Penny. No one else.”

He wished he could be there with Quentin, rubbing soothing circles into his back until he fell asleep. “Someone else,” he argued.

The voice didn’t answer. Penny took a seat on the park bench. He needed a break from running for awhile.

A new voice piped up from next to him. “Talking to the creep again?” A white-brown blur sat beside him. Quentin.

“He’s not a creep,” Penny said.

“If he looks like a creep and walks like a creep…”

“I’ve never seen him; I don’t know what he looks like. Or what he walks like, for that matter.”

Quentin’s voice went soft, the way it always did when he was being earnest. He was so fucking earnest, Quentin. Never in his waking life had Penny met someone who cared so much about… everything. “Don’t trust him,” Quentin said. “He speaks to you in your mind, but he never shows you his face? He sounds shady as fuck, come on Penny.”

Penny wanted to say, so what? Lots of the people he talked to were shady as fuck. He didn’t exactly have his pick of friends, as the resident ‘crazy person’ in town. He was the kid who talked to voices other people couldn’t hear. He was the freak who had an eerie way of knowing what people were thinking before they spoke their thoughts out loud. So, yeah. Penny made lots of questionable decisions about who he spent his time with. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.

But he wasn’t used to other people calling him out on his questionable decisions.

His voice came out as soft as Quentin’s. “He’s my only friend.”

A solid hand rested on his shoulder. A blurred-out face looked back at him.

“Then what am I?” Quentin asked.

***

Quentin couldn’t get out of bed again. He thought things would be different after he got into Brakebills. Dean Fogg had told him things would be different. _‘You haven’t been depressed, Quentin. You’ve been alone.’_ But Quentin was here now, in a school full of other magicians, and he still couldn’t get out of bed. This was the truth he’d feared all along: he was the problem. Not his school. Not Julia. Not his family.

Him.

Even his dreams weren’t an escape. He couldn’t get out of bed in his dreams, either. He was flat on the mattress, staring up at the popcorn ceiling of his dorm room, when a voice called out to him.

“Quentin.”

The voice didn’t pull him out of his thoughts. It barely tapped against Quentin’s mind. Quentin was encased in a glass tower, and that voice was a tiny pebble that just pinged against the window.

“Quentin?”

Quentin was the problem. He was broken and useless, and he was all out of solutions. The meds used to help somewhat, but he couldn’t have the meds anymore because he was supposed to be able to function without them. Dean Fogg had said--

“Quentin!” A hand brushed against his chin, tilting his eyes toward something other than the popcorn ceiling. Penny stared back at him, all creased brow and worried eyes. Quentin could see his face clearly now, since they’d met at Brakebills. He wanted to memorize that face. Every crease, every eyelash, every worried line that had been etched over a lifetime of keeping himself a secret from other people.

When they first met, Penny knew immediately that Quentin was the boy from his dreams. He said that Quentin thought exactly the way he dreamed. They were outside, and the campus was crowded with people lounging about and playing games of magic ultimate frisbee. But Penny still spoke quietly, like he was afraid of someone overhearing them and sending Penny to a mental institution. Quentin had been to his fair share; he didn’t blame the guy for being disinclined.

Penny was so much more open in the dreams they shared than he ever allowed himself to be in real life. The first night they dreamed after meeting each other, Quentin had reached out a hand to touch that face. “You’re a lot prettier when you’re not just a blur.”

Penny’s lips had quirked up. “You think I’m pretty?”

Now, as he looked at Quentin, those lips were set in a firm, hard line. “When’s the last time you took your meds, Q?”

Quentin remembered the first time Penny had landed in one of his depression dreams. Quentin couldn’t see his face; back in those days, he was still just a blur. But he could hear the way Penny’s voice shook when he asked him what was wrong. He could hear how scared Penny was for him.

Quentin had been scared, too. It was a dull kind of fear, hidden beneath layers and layers of despair and emptiness and a heavy kind of exhaustion. But it was there, fluttering just below the surface of the all that other shit. Those were the days when he was first figuring out his depression for himself. The days before he had a diagnosis: a name for the ugly monster that kept him down for days or weeks at a time. “I can’t get out of bed,” he’d told Penny. “I think my brain is broken.” Then, “I was worried I wouldn’t see you again.” Penny had asked Quentin why he thought he wouldn’t see him again. “I can’t see any of the good things lately.” Depression made them all vanish from his brain. His dreams; his interests; his hope for the future. It all disappeared from view when the depression monster got a hold of him.

“Dean said I don’t need them anymore. I’m with other people like me; I should be happy. Why the fuck can’t I be happy?”

Beside him, Penny looked like a paying customer who had the sinking feeling that he was being conned. “The Dean doesn’t want you to be happy, Quentin.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Haven’t you caught onto what this whole school is about? Dean Fogg doesn’t care about us; he only cares about what we can do.”

Quentin didn’t know there was a difference. “What’s wrong with Dean Fogg?”

“The problem isn’t just Dean Fogg. The problem is this entire school. People around here think that great magic comes from pain. Well, I call bullshit.” He reached out a hand and squeezed Quentin’s. Quentin held onto the touch like it was a life preserver. Penny’s voice was soft. “You can’t create anything if you can’t even get out of bed, Q. And even if you could -- even if going off your meds made you the greatest magician to walk the earth -- so what? What would you do, hang an actual storm cloud above your head? What’s the point of magic if you can’t even enjoy it?”

“Other people could enjoy it.”

“Not me,” Penny said. “Not the people who care about you. No, listen, Q. Between having magic and having Quentin Coldwater, I’d choose you every time.”

Quentin had been trying to interrupt Penny, trying to get him to see just how _useless_ Quentin Coldwater was; how much better the world would be if he could become something better than he was. If he could go from being Quentin Coldwater, silly bullshit nerd, to Quentin Coldwater, a powerful magician. To someone who was actually worthwhile. He stopped short when Penny said that last part… about choosing him.

Quentin frowned at him. “Don’t say things just to make me feel better.”

“I’m not.” And Penny sounded so sure, so unwaveringly genuine, that Quentin couldn’t find the nerve to disbelieve him.

***

They were all set to do the spell to bring back Alice Quinn’s brother, but then Penny made the mistake of telling Quentin who had sent him. Penny had been hanging out with Kady when he’d gotten a message from his friend telling him that he needed to go to Room 806 in Murphy Hall and help a couple students with a spell.

As soon as Penny mentioned his friend, Quentin immediately shut down. “We can’t do the spell,” he said. “Not if the creep is the one who wants us to do it.”

“He’s not a creep,” Penny said, on reflex.

“Who’s not a creep?” Alice asked.

“Nobody.”

Penny pulled Quentin to the side, away from the others. He spoke quietly; he could practically feel that Alice Quinn girl peering at him on the other side of the room. “He really wants us to do that spell, Quentin.”

Quentin cocked his head at Penny. He brushed a hand against Penny’s head, just at the temple. Sometimes he could feel it pulsing, whenever the thoughts in Penny’s head got really loud. Now, it was throbbing furiously. Quentin spoke gently, so as not to make the noise in Penny’s head worse. “He’s not asking anymore, is he? He’s telling.”

Penny nodded. He looked at Quentin with dark, scared eyes. “He’s in my head, Q. I don’t know how to get him out.”

Quentin looked back at him and silently wondered what they could do. Penny had been the one who was there for Quentin when he needed someone. He’d been the one who took Quentin’s meds back from Dean Fogg. He’d been the one who stayed with Quentin until he was ready to get out of bed again. When Quentin needed someone, Penny had been there. Quentin needed to be there for him now -- even if he could only be there for Penny in his own Quentin way. So he looked back at Penny, and he quickly made a choice. “What if I tried?”

That night, when Penny went to sleep, Quentin cast a spell. If he could get inside Penny’s mind, he hoped he could find the place where the creep was broadcasting his voice and do something to jam the signal. Penny said everyone else’s voice came into his head with a lot of static, but the creep’s voice was as clear as a bell. The guy must’ve been doing something to make his voice come through so clear. Quentin just needed to undo it.

The spell went rather smoothly. Quentin wasn’t the best magician at Brakebills, but he had an advantage in that he was Penny’s soulmate. He’d already been in Penny’s headspace countless times. Every dream they shared was a combined space of both of their subconsciouses. The trick with this spell was that Quentin’s subconscious couldn’t be a part of the equation. He and Penny weren’t exploring a shared space together; this place was all Penny, and Quentin was just a passing visitor. As Quentin cast the spell, he focused only on Penny.

Penny’s mind was a beautiful place. It was all Florida bogs and wide open parks and the shimmering waves of the ocean. Where Quentin’s mind was flat planes and bleached out colors and waning apathy, Penny’s mind was roiling waves and scarlet sunsets and exposed nerves everywhere. It was the kind of mind you could get lost in; Quentin didn’t know where to go first. Every crevice was a memory; every inch held a certain sentiment. Penny hid himself so well, but he couldn’t hide in his own mind. Inside Penny’s mind, Quentin felt like he was seeing the other boy clearly for the first time. Only now did Quentin realize just how tenderhearted Penny was.

The deeper he went in Penny’s head, the more intense the images became. Bogs became swamp marshes. Sandy shores became vast desert lands. He saw Penny’s birth mother. He didn’t stop to speak to her; she wasn’t who he was looking for, and Quentin didn’t want to invade Penny’s privacy anymore than he had to.

Quentin heard the creep before he saw him. The guy was yelling horrible things at Penny. “I’m just asking you for one favor,” he was saying, “you ungrateful little brat! Don’t you want to be useful for once in your life?”

“You sure know how to ask someone for a favor,” Quentin sniped. He wanted to say more, but he stopped short when he _saw_ the guy.

He wasn’t even really a guy. He was shaped like one, but he was covered in a swarm of moths. You couldn’t see an inch of the man beneath the surface.

Even so, the guy seemed to see him. “Quentin Coldwater.” His voice was crystal clear from beneath all the moths. “There you are.”

Quentin frowned. “Have you been waiting for me?”

“Quite the opposite. I didn’t expect our first meeting to be inside Penny’s mind.”

“What do you want?”

“I thought I was very clear.” The voice was airy and condescending. “I want you, Penny, and your friends to perform that spell. Until you do, I’m not going anywhere.”

Quentin wasn’t like Penny. His mind wasn’t beautiful. It was ill-tempered and capricious and unrelenting. It made Quentin a little reckless sometimes. When you couldn’t rely on your own mind, you learned how to improvise from moment to moment. And when you had difficulty caring about yourself, the way Quentin had difficulty caring about himself, the word, ‘improvising’ could mean a lot of different things. Like cheating to pass a class he hadn’t attended all semester. Or asking the meanest girl at Brakebills to help him not flunk out. Or picking fights with people who were much bigger and stronger than him. He took a few steps towards the beastly man in front of him. “You can’t stay here.” This particular headspace had become very important to Quentin over the years; he wasn’t going to let it get violated by some creep who found talented magicians like Penny and took advantage of them.

He could hear the mirth in the creep’s voice. “Who’s going to make me leave?”

“Me.”

He laughed. “My boy, we’re in dear Penny’s mind. If you hurt me, you hurt Penny.”

“I don’t need to hurt you,” Quentin I said, “I just need to quiet you.” He held up a hand and focused all his attention on muting the man in front of him. He didn’t really know what he was doing, but then again, he hadn’t known what he was doing when he got into Brakebills with that card magic trick of his. He still didn’t have a discipline, for chrissake. Obviously Quentin had no idea what he was doing a large majority of the time. So, Quentin did what Quentin did best: he improvised.

The man was laughing. “What do you think you’re doing?” Quentin ignored him.

He couldn’t say when his attention turned on the moths. But his magic must have been doing something, because soon they were all screaming. Together they emitted a soft, buzzing wail that drowned out anything the creep may have been saying. They were like white noise blocking him out.

Quentin cast a wild look around Penny’s mind. Just to be crystal-fucking-clear, he really had no idea what he was doing. He wanted this guy out of Penny’s head, but he wanted to know that he wasn’t hurting Penny in the process.

Everything around him was still. The moths were the only thing in the whole place that Quentin seemed to touch. They clearly wanted to be let go.

Evidently, so did the creep. He disappeared, and that buzzing wail fell silent.

Quentin breathed out a sigh of relief.

When Penny woke up, he told Quentin he couldn’t hear the creep anymore.

“Do you think I scared him off?” Quentin asked.

“Maybe. Or maybe you just pissed him off, and now he’s quietly giving me an ulcer.”

“Oh.” Quentin knew Penny was kidding, but he couldn’t laugh along. He was scared for Penny. After meeting the creep in person and hearing all the words he’d been shouting at Penny, Quentin was terrified for him. Penny wasn’t like Quentin. Penny was healthy and stable and secure with himself. But that creep inside Penny’s head had spoken to him so similarly to how Quentin’s depression often spoke to him: telling him he was useless, talking to him like he was unworthy of anything good in life. Quentin didn’t want those kinds of thoughts manifesting in Penny’s brain. Penny didn’t deserve those thoughts in his brain.

Perhaps Penny could see how freaked out Quentin was, because his face softened and his voice turned sincere. “I think you scared him off,” he said. “For now, at least.”

“You know he was wrong, right?” Quentin said. “All the shit he was yelling at you. He was wrong.”

“I know,” Penny said. “Q, give me some credit. I’ve heard other people’s thoughts for as long as I can remember; I’ve learned how to block out the nonsense.”

“Are you sure?” Quentin asked. “I think, if I heard other people’s thoughts, hearing all the bad things people thought about me wouldn’t get easier over time. All the bad thoughts would probably just start to weigh on me more. You don’t always have to be okay, you know.”

“I know,” Penny said. But his eyes were shining, like no one had ever talked to him the way Quentin just had. Quentin had a feeling most people took Penny at his word when he told them he was okay. “But it’s late, and you haven’t slept all night.”

Penny was right; Quentin was exhausted. “Okay,” he said, holding back the yawn that threatened to escape his mouth. “But if you want to talk in the morning, I’m here.” He started walking back to his own bed on the other side of the room.

“Quentin?” Penny scooched to one side of his bed and held up his blanket: a silent offer. Quentin knew he wouldn’t get more than that. Penny hid his heart well. He wasn’t the type to always say what he was thinking.

But Quentin didn’t have to be a mind reader to read his intention loud and clear. He knew exactly what Penny was thinking.

_‘Will you stay with me?’_

Quentin would.


End file.
